


somebody to love

by chasingcrowns



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Slow Burn, Soulmates, count the tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingcrowns/pseuds/chasingcrowns
Summary: In a world where the marks on your soulmate’s skin appear on your own, Adora wishes her soulmate would just talk to her for once, while Catra wishes her soulmate would stop trying to talk to her.Hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 337





	somebody to love

**Author's Note:**

> after binging the entirety of she-ra i became utterly obsessed with this pair and i just had to write something for them! to my knowledge there aren’t any soulmate fics for this fandom with this particular soulmate trope so i thought hey, why not. it was originally supposed to be a one-shot but now it’s... this
> 
> fic title is from the song somebody to love by queen, that and the song that i quoted at the beginning of this chapter are the main inspirations for this

_wake up and smell the coffee_   
_is your cup half full or empty?_   
_when we talk, you say it softly_   
_but i love it when you're awfully quiet_

\- billie eilish, “come out and play”

*

Fifteen minutes before her alarm goes off, Adora wakes up to the sound of an obnoxiously loud voice on the other side of the wall, tugging her from her slumber. She groans, burying her face into her pillow for a beat, and then halfheartedly slams a weak fist against the wall. 

“Bow!” she calls, though her sleep-scratchy voice comes out far quieter than intended. Despite this, her actions seem to have their desired effect, and the voice of her best friend making his way through his self proclaimed favorite song quiets down. 

With a sigh, Adora shuts her eyes and rolls back over in a futile attempt to reclaim the next quarter hour of sleep. The rhythmic drumming of the rain outside of her window manages to slowly lull her back to sleep, and just as she begins to feel herself start to fade, her alarm blares like a siren.

(Not for the first time, she regrets taking the bedroom that shares a wall with the bathroom. It has the bigger window, but that wasn’t much compared to having to deal with Bow’s habit of singing far louder than deemed necessary whenever he showers. It’s not like it really bother her, but it becomes sort of a nuisance when she’s trying to sleep.)

Morosely, Adora stares up at the cracks on the ceiling of her room, and then, steeling herself to face the day, slides out from underneath her comforter and reaches for her phone. She shuts off her alarm, ignores Glimmer’s seven messages that range from begging to bribing her to stop at the coffee shop she works at on the way over to their sole shared class, and then shuffles out of her room. 

On the weekdays, she tends to stick to a routine that includes getting dressed, going on a quick jog around the campus, showering, and then getting _properly_ dressed. Today, the rogue claps of thunder shaking the building every few moments and the angry droplets of water gathering against their windows tells her that she’ll have to do her daily jog this evening instead.

Their bathroom is still slightly fogged with steam when Adora makes her way inside, but the water is moderately lukewarm. She stays underneath it for a while — a treat, considering she has plenty of extra time this morning since she’ll be rescheduling her jog — but speeds along when Bow bangs on the door and asks her if she wants him to make her anything for breakfast.

The smell of bacon intermingles with the smell of her soap by the time she gets out of the bathroom. She gets dressed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and her favorite hoodie, and then steps back out of her room just in time to see Bow sitting down at their tiny table. 

“Good morning,” he greets her, sliding a plate of toast and bacon in her direction. Adora thanks him, sitting down in the opposite chair to pull her socks on, and then rubs any remnants of sleep left from her eyes. 

“You’re more cheerful than usual this morning,” she comments after taking a bite of toast. Bow smiles, and when Adora’s eyes catch sight of his arm, she connects the pieces together. “Talking to Glimmer?”

Predictably, Bow nods his head after swallowing his food, and then glances down at his arm. “She’s freaking out about the exam she has today.”

Adora briefly glances at their conversation. Bow’s words are obvious to spot: they look more like the actual writing of a pen, while Glimmer’s writing takes on the appearance of a tattoo ingrained in his dark skin. For a moment, she gets lost in the wonderance of what it might feel like to have a real conversation with her own soulmate — until Bow’s words register in her head, and she groans. 

“Oh God, I know what exam she’s freaking out about,” she sighs, one hand rubbing against the fabric of her sweatpants. Bow raises a brow, so she clarifies. “It’s for our English class. I’ve been stressing about it all week,” she pauses, making a motion in the direction of Bow’s arm, “and I guess she has been, too.” 

Bow gives her a wide smile. “Well, I’m sure you two will be fine,” he reassures her, and Adora returns the gesture. It’s quiet for a moment, before Bow speaks again. “What about you? Your soulmate responded to you yet?” 

As usual, Adora’s answer is always the same. 

“No,” she sighs, breaking off a small piece of her bacon before she glances down at her own arm. Although there was a sadness that came with never having someone to talk to in the same way almost everyone else did, Adora would admit that even if her soulmate never exactly responded to her, what they did was still beautiful. “But they did leave me with _this_ last night.” 

Rolling up the sleeve of her hoodie, Adora reveals the intricate painting her soulmate had done sometime around midnight: flowers, painted in a variety of different colors stretched out along her forearm, from her wrist to the crease of her elbow _._

“Wow,” Bow exclaims, genuinely astonished. Adora lets him trace the pads of his fingers along the edges of the work, the same thing she had done just hours ago. “Adora, I know I’ve told you this before, but your soulmate is _super_ freaking talented.” 

As per usual, Adora isn’t able to hide the pride that flashes through her chest at the compliment. She’s always shown off her soulmate’s flair, which ultimately isn’t hard to do, especially with how often it happens. Each piece is always different, and they’re not just always on her arm. She’ll be grateful for the warmth of spring, she thinks, so she can get back to wearing thin tank tops and shorts to show off every piece of work once again. 

“I know right?” she asks, staring at her arm for a moment longer. Even if she doesn’t know her soulmate personally — or at all, really — she always feels a connection with them whenever they paint somewhere on their body. 

Bow stares at her with a wide smile. Adora furrows her brows together in confusion, watching as his smile impossibly widens. “So _that’s_ why you’re so tired this morning; you were up all night with them again.” 

Adora shrugs and stares down at her mug of coffee, though is unable to stop a smile from spreading across her face. “I like watching them work,” she says, cheeks lightly dusted over in pink. “It’s cool to see it all come together, even if they never respond to what I have to say.” 

Bow’s smile falters, and he reaches across the table to rub her arm. “Hey,” he starts softly, waiting for her to look up at him before attempting to reassure her. “They’ll talk to you when they’re ready.”

Adora stares at him for a minute, and then eventually takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” she agrees, because she does. It’s been years of the same thing; she should be fairly used to it by now. “Yeah, I know.”

Her soulmate hasn’t ever been much of a talker. As a kid, she had been plagued by a series of questions regarding _why._ Why didn’t her soulmate want to talk to her? Why did she always have to watch practically everyone else talk to their soulmates, gossiping about who they thought it was and laughing when their soulmate said _this_ or _that,_ while she could never relate? Why didn’t she run out of space on her arm when conversations ran too long and have to resort to writing on her leg or stomach like everyone else did? But eventually, as the years passed, Adora began to appreciate what she _did_ have. 

No one else had intricate designs and blends of beautiful colors painted or drawn across their body, but she did. Everyone was always so blown away by the work that her soulmate did, that the feeling of sadness Adora used to get when she never got a response from her soulmate had eventually begun to lessen.

There had been one time she had got a worded response, though. She remembers it vividly, despite the fact that it had been years ago, back when she was just starting high school. 

Lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, Adora had written _Can you paint something for me?_ on the inside of her arm. It was the first anniversary of her mother’s death, and despite having just woken up, she knew the day would be horrible _._ She had never felt so alone before, and she desperately ached for some sort of distraction. 

She hadn’t even been expecting a response — of course she wasn’t, considering her soulmate had never actually talked to her before — but surprisingly, the word _okay_ appeared just a few minutes after. A couple of hours later, the entirety of her arm was a beautiful plethora of reds and oranges and yellows, and the sheer happiness Adora felt was simply indescribable. 

That same evening, after getting home from visiting her mother’s grave, she had written _Thank you,_ careful to avoid the colors that still marked her arm. There had been no response, but it was from that moment on that Adora had decided that maybe she didn’t always need one.

What her soulmate never gave her with words, they gave in the form of art. 

“Speaking of soulmates,” Bow starts a few moments later, pulling Adora out of her thoughts. “Do you have anything planned next weekend?”

Adora knits her brows together and shakes her head. “Nothing I can think of. Why?” 

A wide grin suddenly splits Bow’s face once again. “We’re meeting Perfuma’s for dinner!” 

“Perfuma’s… what?” she asks, sticking the rest of her bacon into her mouth. 

“Her soulmate,” he clarifies. Adora widens her eyes, although it isn’t all that surprising the more she thinks about it. She knows that throughout Perfuma’s life, she had always talked to her soulmate, although they’d never interacted in person. Apparently they had found out they were going to the same university a few weeks ago, and Adora supposes they had met up in that period of time. 

“Who’s we?” she asks out of curiosity, since Bow clearly knows more about this than she does. 

“You, me, Glimmer, Mermista, a couple of Perfuma’s other friends,” he tells her. “I don’t think it’d be unreasonable to assume Perfuma’s soulmate will bring some friends, too. You in?” 

Adora’s mind reels at the idea of seeing yet another person meet their soulmate while she’s never even managed to have a full conversation with her own, but the opportunity to make new friends isn’t exactly unappealing.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “I’m in.” 

  
  


At exactly seven fifty-eight, Glimmer sits down in the seat next to her. She looks sort of out of breath, like she had been running to get here on time — Adora figures she was late, _again,_ considering there’s literally only two minutes until class starts — and her friend immediately huffs.

 _“Why_ did I let you convince me taking an early class would be a good idea, again?” she asks, pulling her things out of her bag and then fixing Adora with a glare.

Adora raises a brow, unable to stop herself from chuckling. “I still don’t understand why you’re always late when you live in a dorm that’s like a five minute walk from here.” 

“Maybe when you’re _tall,”_ Glimmer sulks, “but I’m like half a foot shorter than you, so your stride is naturally longer and faster.” Adora opens her mouth to respond, but Glimmer holds a finger up. “Nope. Don’t pick on short people, Adora. Especially when you’re a giant. It’s—“

“But I’m the average height—?” 

“—rude.” Glimmer gives her another look over, adding, “and you’re definitely taller than the average height.” 

Adora squints her eyes. Not only was Glimmer late, but she seemed a little edgier than usual. “You accidentally put salt in your coffee again, didn’t you?”

Glimmer pauses, before visibly deflating. “Wouldn’t have happened if you had stopped to get coffee,” she grumbles.

Adora laughs just as their professor stands up from his desk, telling them to put their electronics away so they can get started. 

“Bow says good luck,” Glimmer whispers into her ear as Adora gathers all of her things and shoves them into her backpack. 

Bow and Glimmer are the only two soulmates Adora knows who met each other far earlier on in life. She became friends with both of them her freshman year of college, back when she was just a girl with a soccer scholarship, moving to the big city of Bright Moon to attend a well populated university.

At first, it was a little difficult to fit in with them both. They had known each other since they were in middle school, had known they were soulmates since high school, but they were both open and friendly enough that it was much easier than Adora had initially expected.

Much like their relationship, Adora had fantasized about knowing who her soulmate was earlier on in life. She’d imagined lying underneath the stars or dancing around without any music or watching cheesy movies with the person that fate had chosen for her, and when that person didn’t make their self known in high school, she hadn’t let it bother her too much. A lot of people didn’t even meet their soulmates — at least, not in person — till after high school, or even after college, so what if she had to wait a while?

Logically, she knows that it’s kind of ridiculous to feel smitten with a person she knows almost nothing about. She doesn’t quite know how to explain the feeling, just knows that it’s there, and every time she feels the echo of a brush or pen against her arm, it intensifies. But honestly, can anyone really blame her for it? For wanting someone that the universe has approved of just for her? 

Adora’s pulled out of her thoughts by her professor setting the exam down in front of her. She spins her pen around in her hand and glances down at the sheet of paper, before changing her attention back to the painting along her arm. It’s a little smudged in the areas closer to her wrist, and she briefly wonders what her soulmate’s done to make it look like that. 

Is it raining where they are, too?

Did rolling around in the sheets while they slept just naturally cause it to smudge? 

Did they wash their hands and accidentally splash their wrist?

Were they going to wash it off, and then decided against it last minute?

So many questions, and yet, as their professor tells them they can begin, all Adora finds herself wishing is that her soulmate would wish her luck, too. 

  
  


By the time she finishes up, the lecture hall is fairly empty, with only three of her classmates and the professor still inside. She slides her favorite red jacket back on — the one she had been tempted to leave back in her apartment in favor of showing off her soulmate’s work, but had eventually decided against it since it was still raining pretty heavily — and makes her way out of the room.

Glimmer looks up from where she’s sitting down with her back against the wall, raising a brow. “Finally. All done?” 

Adora elbows her friend’s shoulder. “I told you that you didn’t have to wait,” she says. Glimmer had been one of the earlier ones to turn in her exam, almost twenty minutes ago. 

“I figured you’d like to have some company on the way to the café, and since I didn’t get to have any coffee this morning, I thought I might as well stop by.” Glimmer waves her hands in the air as they make their way outside, where the sky remains angry and rain continues to pour. “Also, I forgot my umbrella, and it’s still raining.” 

Adora playfully rolls her eyes as she pulls out her, luckily, oversized umbrella and holds it at an angle that’ll protect them both from the weather. Fortunately, the coffee shop that she works at a few times a week is only about a mile away from campus, which makes it extremely convenient on the days she has work right after class. 

They walk in silence for the most part, considering it’s kind of difficult to hear each other over the sound of the rain pounding against the pavement around them. It takes them almost twice as long to reach their destination, but their clothes are only slightly damp by the time they do. 

“You want your usual?” Adora asks her friend after she’s clocked in and pulled on her uniform and an apron. 

Glimmer hums her response, leaning her hip against the counter. Adora quickly makes the drink, greeting the other three employees currently working — surprisingly enough, Tuesday mornings aren’t as busy as some of the other days — and reaches across the counter to hand it to Glimmer.

“I added a shot of espresso,” she grins.

Glimmer smiles and shakes her head, before taking a sip of her beverage. “You know me so well.”

-

The bright, neon pink lights of the diner across the road illuminate the growing puddles in the street, the sky overheard a large slate of gray. Catra dejectedly stares out of the window for at least a solid minute, and then sighs. Thunder rattles the building every so often, and the only thing she can think is, _this is all Entrapta’s fault._

On her way home from the library, Entrapta had asked her to stop by a small shop that sold the tools she needed to fix their keurig. Considering that it had finally stopped raining by the time Catra had actually left the library, she figured stopping wouldn’t have done her any harm, and yet here she is, trapped inside a small mechanical shop with no umbrella and a raging downpour just outside. 

(Catra hadn’t even known their keurig was broken in the first place. It had seemed fine when she had used it to make several cups of coffee last night to keep herself up while she painted on her arm, but she had stopped questioning things Entrapta did a while ago.) 

_i’m stuck in this weird mechanical store with no way to get home bc of u,_ Catra eventually texts her, since she has nothing better to do than just wait out the rain. Some of the employees and shoppers have been staring at her for a while, but they go about their day every time she looks up and glares at them. 

When Entrapta responds ten minutes later, Catra’s almost offended. _Why are you stuck there?_

 _bc it’s raining! and i have no umbrella!!!_ she messages back. 

Luckily, Entrapta’s next response only takes a few minutes. _Oh. Well the weather app says it should only be about another two hours or so before it clears up._

Catra huffs and furiously smashes the keyboard on her phone with her thumbs. _only two hours? ONLY two hours???_

By the time Entrapta responds with _That is what I said. Although by now it should only be an hour and fifty minutes_ , Catra’s pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and squared her shoulders. Before she can change her mind, she forces her feet to start moving forward, walking straight into the torrential downpour.

She almost immediately regrets it, the pressure of the bullets of rain against her head and the wind far stronger than she had originally anticipated. She barely makes it a couple of blocks before she decides to hide her messenger bag underneath her hoodie, suddenly thankful she had worn her oversized one instead of the one that was more fitted. 

Less than a few minutes in, Catra begins to feel the water seep into the clothes underneath her hoodie, and decides that she’d rather seek refuge somewhere for two hours than be soaked through to the bone by the time she gets home. Luckily, when she attempts to take in her surroundings without getting water in her eyes, a familiar building quickly catches her attention. 

It’s a coffee shop that she ends up in, more so to take shelter from the rain than because she wants any caffeine. Of course, her best friend spots her as soon as the _ding-a-ling!_ of the bells sound overhead, and immediately waves her over. 

“Wildcat!” Scorpia exclaims, leaning across the counter. Catra, as always, has to resist the urge to laugh at the sight of her friend in a ridiculous uniform and apron. “I wasn’t expecting to see you in here today! Hazelnut Latte?” 

Catra nods, fishing a five dollar bill out of her wallet. “Well, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t expecting to be here either,” she admits, taking a quick glance around. The place is almost empty, aside from a distressed looking college student making their way through a pastry on one end, and a couple of employees near the back on the other end. She sets her messenger bag down on the counter, briefly thanking whatever deity that might be up there that it isn’t wet, and then peels off her soaked hoodie. 

“You forgot an umbrella again, huh?” Scorpia asks, handing her the beverage. It warms Catra’s hands as soon as she grasps it, and she has to fight the urge to start shivering right then and there like some loser who was caught in the cold rain. 

“No, I brought it, and then decided to walk in the cold rain for the fun of it,” she sarcastically responds as she tosses the change Scorpia hands her into the tip jar, and then grabs her bag and hoodie. “I’ll probably just wait out the storm before I leave.” 

Scorpia gives her a sympathetic smile. “Well, at least it’s not too bad in here,” she says as Catra makes her way towards the back in hopes that no one will bother her there. She doesn’t argue with Scorpia, because for the most part, she’s right — the place smells of baked goods and coffee beans, and is all in all, fairly quiet. It’s only a couple of miles from her, Scorpia, and Entrapta’s shared apartment, so in light of good weather, she often found herself here. Plus, Scorpia would give her a discount on occasion, even if she wasn’t supposed to. 

The rain outside of the window she sits by drums against it noisily, like it’s seeking out the warmth of the café, too. She lays her hoodie out along the chair she’s sitting on so it’ll dry quicker, before pulling her sketchbook and colored pencils out of her bag, and then putting her headphones in and turning on her music in order to pass the time. 

The first hour passes by at a reasonable pace. Catra finds that she’s fairly relaxed, music playing through her earbuds, the pencil grasped between her fingers smoothly gliding along the paper, though she gets a little tense when anyone passes by the table she’s sitting at. It’s not like she’s ashamed or embarrassed of anything she draws, but everything in her sketchbook is private; not even Scorpia or Entrapta have really seen what she does. 

The only thing she really shares is whatever she draws for her art class, although that’s only because she has to. Briefly, she wonders if sharing with whoever got stuck with her as a soulmate counts — it’s only when she decides to paint somewhere on herself, typically her arm — and then decides that it probably does. 

Catra has never been interested in the concept of having a _soulmate,_ or of having a fate in general. It doesn’t quite make sense to her; if things are meant to be, then what was the point? If things were meant to be, then why try? If things were meant to be, why worry about the consequences? And besides, who was the universe to tell her who her perfect match was? 

Growing up, she had never really had any control over her life, being thrown around the foster care system for as long as she could remember. She had begun to gain a bit more of a semblance of control after high school, especially when it came to the colleges that she chose to apply to, what she wanted to major in, and whether she wanted to live in an apartment or a dorm. The idea of having someone she’s supposed to be the perfect match for, someone who’s supposed to be her own perfect match, is _terrifying._

So of course, the moment she had learned about soulmates — what the markings on her body meant, how she could talk to her own — she hadn’t exactly been on board with the idea. What made it even worse was that Catra’s soulmate in particular is a little too talkative for her taste. 

In their younger years, her soulmate had always written to her, a variety of different words in different colors appearing on Catra’s arm. It’s not like Catra really knew what to say, considering the idea of having a soulmate isn’t something she thinks she’ll ever be ready to accept, so she simply hadn’t said anything. 

It’s lasted that way for years. Admittedly, Catra feels a little bad for whoever got stuck with her as a soulmate. It’s not like she’s _trying_ to be a jerk to whoever it is. She didn’t even ask for any of this. And besides, she knows soulmates can fall in love with people who aren’t their soulmates, so it’s not like her own soulmate is going to be alone forever. She’s seen it happen before, read about it in articles, although it’s reported that happy relationships and marriages tend to last longer in a pair of soulmates, as opposed to people who aren’t soulmates. 

Although, there have been a few times where she’s let herself wonder what her soulmate might be like if she ever were to meet them. Whether she likes it or not, there’s a constant, lingering connection to her soulmate that she’s able to feel. Throughout the years, Catra’s managed to bury that feeling to the point where it’s barely even noticeable, but whenever her soulmate writes on their skin, the feeling intensifies, and she’s unable to ignore it. 

By now, the only thing her soulmate really ever does is compliment the drawings or paintings on her body. Sometimes they’ll randomly ask Catra if she’s having a good day, or comment things about their own day. Most commonly though, they’ll leave reminders for themself, ranging from things like _meet Mermista and SH at eight p.m. for dinner_ or _stop at the grocery store for milk._ It’s become frequent enough that Catra’s just thankful that her soulmate’s dominant hand is the opposite of her own, so she doesn’t have to worry about covering up reminders with her paintings.

Putting all of these things together, Catra’s managed to figure out that her soulmate must be fairly talkative, moderately forgetful, and persistent, since they haven’t seemed to have given up on talking to her. Again, Catra isn’t quite sure what to make of that knowledge, but not doing anything about it just seems like the most simple option. 

So she doesn’t respond; she never does. She focuses on more important things — her art, for example — like now, as she shades in the curve of a compass on the paper of her sketchbook. 

Her cup of coffee has been empty for almost half an hour by now, and yet, the rain still shows no signs of stopping. With a sigh, Catra grabs the cup, shuts her sketchbook, before making her way back to the counter. 

Scorpia is no longer there, but a skinny guy with blond hair is. He quickly makes her drink without too much of a hassle, and when he hands it over, Catra eagerly accepts it. 

She’s barely had her hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee for more than a few moments — mind already aroused by the sweet, _sweet_ smell of vanilla — when someone runs into her, sending her precious drink _everywhere._

Naturally, Catra’s first instinct should be to protect herself from the burning liquid, but with how close they are to her table, her mind immediately flashes to her sketchbook. Everything after that seems to happen in slow motion, and Catra slams her arm into the book, sending it flying to the opposite end of the table. The coffee sloshes onto her hands and shirt, as well as where her sketchbook had previously been. 

“Mother _fucker,”_ she immediately hisses as she drops the cup onto the floor when the pain of the hot coffee sinks into her hand — not like much had been left, anyway — before quickly attempting to wipe them on her pants, although it barely helps. “Are you _serious?”_ she adds, quickly spinning around to face the person that had ran into her, ready to unleash a myriad of insults— 

—and is met with the most _beautiful_ face she has quite possibly ever seen. 

“Oh my god!” the girl exclaims, her wide gray eyes staring back at Catra with surprise. “Shit, oh my god, I’m— I’m so sorry, I—“ she stutters over herself, quickly scrambling to her feet, hands hovering over Catra’s now brown stained shirt. 

Catra’s brain short circuits.

It’s quiet for a moment — even the few other customers in the coffee shop are silent and are probably staring at them — and everything just seems to stop. The girl stares straight back at her, and Catra notes that she’s an employee who works here, if the apron covering her uniform is anything to go by. Her own shirt, thankfully, is no longer burning hot, just wet and uncomfortable. The rest of her coffee either litters the table or the floor. 

They remain frozen for at least a few more seconds, before eventually, the girl reaches for the napkin dispenser and begins to pull handfuls of them out. Catra still doesn’t move, not at first, until Scorpia suddenly appears on the other side of her, looking about as bewildered as Catra feels. 

“What happened?” she exclaims. Catra clenches her jaw, flings her hands around in another fruitless attempt to rid of the coffee still on them, and then scowls when she sees the most likely permanent damage done to her clothes. 

“This _idiot_ wasn’t watching where she was going,” she snaps, finally collecting her bearings together and snatching the napkins out of the girl’s hands. She still looks mildly terrified, but Catra can’t find it in her to feel any sympathy when _she’s_ the one with her _own_ coffee all over her because some dick wasn’t watching where they were going. 

“I’m really sorry,” the girl repeats, pulling more napkins out of the dispenser and using them to clean the table. By now, another employee has appeared with a mop, and Scorpia wraps her hand around Catra’s arm to pull her away from the mess. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Can I— can I get you another coffee? Or—“

“Save it,” Catra hisses, crumpling the napkins she had been holding when it becomes apparent that they won’t do much to get the coffee out of her shirt. “You’ve done enough.” 

The girl’s face quickly turns sour. “Look, I said I was sorry, it’s not like I—“ 

“Oh, yeah, because _that’ll_ fix everything. What’s next, you claim this was my fault?”

Before Catra knows it, yet _another_ person is storming up to them, looking incredibly displeased. She’s slightly shorter than Catra, has short, purple hair, and a mean scowl on her face.

 _“Hey,”_ she snaps, waving her arm in front of Catra’s face. “She apologized, what more do you want her to do?”

Catra stares at her with an affronted look. “Are you _serious? She_ ran into _me!”_

“It’s not like she did it on purpose!”

“She should’ve watched where she was going!”

“Well, you could be less of a _bitch_ about it—“ 

“Glimmer!” the other girl interrupts, widening her eyes. Catra considers making fun of the girl for being named _Glimmer,_ when Scorpia pulls her further away from the commotion before she has the chance. 

“I’m so sorry about all this,” she says, eyeing Catra’s shirt. “But really, do you want another coffee? Or are you just gonna head home?” 

Catra rubs her eyes. “It’s not your fault,” she sighs, and then glances up at the rain _still_ coming down outside. “I’ll just head home, I guess.”

The coffee is starting to smell a little _too_ sweet, especially coming from Catra’s shirt. At this point, she doesn’t really care if she’s soaked by the time she gets home, as long as she’s able to protect her messenger bag and sketchbook from getting wet. 

“Really?” Scorpia asks, moving out of the way of the employee who’s still cleaning up the mess. “Man, you know I’d let you borrow my umbrella if I had one, but it wasn’t raining when I left this morning, so I didn’t think to bring it,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck. “You sure you wanna head home without one?” 

Catra opens her mouth to respond with something along the lines of _well, do you have a better idea?_ , but is promptly cut off by _the same girl_ she had thought would’ve been smart enough to leave already. 

“Um, I have an umbrella,” the girl — Adora, her name tag reads as — announces, apparently having been listening to their entire conversation. “If you want to, um, use it.” 

Catra rolls her eyes. “What the hell is that going to do?” she asks, sliding her sweatshirt back on over her clothes. It’s still damp and kind of gross, but it's currently the best protection she has. “I’m already drenched.” 

Glimmer stands behind Adora, arms crossed and seemingly irritated with how the conversation is going, but Catra couldn’t really care less. “It’s the least I can do,” Adora tells her, “since I’m kind of the reason you’re leaving. So, uh, I’ll just— I’ll just get my umbrella,” she finishes sort of awkwardly, and then scurries away to somewhere in the back of the store. 

Catra, again, fights the urge to roll her eyes. Scorpia stares at her for a moment, and then picks up her messenger bag off the table and hands it over to her. “Well, guess that solves your problem,” she chuckles. 

“I wouldn’t be having this problem if she had been watching where she was going in the first place,” Catra points out, pulling the strap over her shoulder. When she turns around, Adora once again appears seemingly out of thin air, holding an incredibly large umbrella in her hands. 

“Here,” she offers, holding it out. Catra stares at the object for a few moments, and then looks back up at Adora. 

“What?” she questions, suspiciously narrowing her eyes. “You’re just gonna give it to me?” she adds, a little surprised. Adora blinks, looking a little surprised herself, but eventually nods. 

“Yes,” she says after a moment of hesitation, holding it out even further so that Catra really has no choice but to accept it. “You could bring it back here later if you want,” she says, before quickly adding “but you don’t have to,” when Catra raises a brow. “I really am sorry for spilling your coffee, and this umbrella is kind of old, anyway, so.”

Catra stares down at the umbrella in her hands, and considers her options. On one hand, she _is_ already drenched, so accepting an umbrella from a stranger who just spilled coffee all over her won’t do much for her; but on the other hand, she doesn’t need everything that’s in her messenger bag to be wet by the time she gets home. 

“Alright,” she eventually says, glancing back up at the girl. Her eyes look more blue than gray now, and Catra briefly wonders if they change colors in the lighting. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

Adora stares at her for a moment, before eventually clearing her throat and stepping out of Catra’s way. Catra takes a deep breath, flashes one last look at both Scorpia and Adora (and Glimmer, but she makes a point to ignore her) before holding the umbrella over her head and exiting the coffee shop. 

  
  


(Later, when she’s finally standing underneath the warmth of the shower overhead and washing the smell of coffee off of her body, Catra decides that she’s going to keep the umbrella, simply out of spite for her ruined shirt.)

  
  


Sometime into the evening, Scorpia gets home from the coffee shop, looking a little tired from the day she’s had. Catra sits on the couch, a bowl full of cereal in her lap as she watches some cheesy horror movie, Entrapta sitting a few feet away from her with a textbook in her own lap.

“Long day?” Catra asks, just to be funny — a clear reference to the mess that had happened earlier — although neither Scorpia nor Entrapta laugh, much to her disappointment. 

“Sort of,” Scorpia says, heading straight for her room. Catra turns her attention back on the movie that’s playing, until Scorpia continues. “But guess what?” Before Catra can even respond with _what?,_ Scorpia’s hurrying out of her room. “You guys are going to get to meet Perfuma!”

Entrapta finally looks up from her textbook that’s been occupying her attention for the past few hours — something about studying for a big test next week. “Who’s Perfuma?”

“Her soulmate,” Catra fills in for her as Scorpia continues talking. 

“We agreed we’d meet next weekend, downtown at the Fright Bar ‘cause they have good food,” she says, sitting down on the coffee table in front of them. “I think she’s bringing some of her friends, too. Gosh, doesn’t this all sound great?” 

Catra isn’t exactly the best at meeting new people — she quite literally has only two people she considers friends for a reason — but because Scorpia is her friend, and because it’s clearly important to her, she gives an enthusiastic smile. Really, she’s happy that her friend is finally getting to start an in person relationship with her soulmate. 

“Sure!” Entrapta exclaims, although her attention has turned back to her textbook. Scorpia smiles at them both, and then glances down at her arm with an even _wider_ smile and a blush. Catra, never one to pass up the opportunity to make fun of her friends, gives a little snicker. 

“You’ve become such a sap ever since you started talking to Perfuma more often,” she teases, bringing a spoonful of Froot Loops to her mouth. Scorpia’s blush deepens.

“Yeah, I just... I really like her,” she admits, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, of course I like her; she’s my _soulmate._ It just— the connection I have with her, it feels… gosh, I don’t know how to explain it.” There’s a pause, and then Scorpia looks at Entrapta. “Entrapta, you know what I’m talking about, right?” 

Entrapta nods her head. “Precisely. The connection you have with your soulmate is like no other.” 

Catra snorts. “Yeah, I can’t relate.” 

Scorpia playfully knocks her ankle against Catra’s, and Catra growls when it sloshes her cereal around in her lap. She does _not_ want a repeat of earlier. “Why don’t you just talk to your soulmate?” 

Entrapta tilts her head. “Oh, you two don’t talk very often, right?” 

“At all, actually,” Catra admits, stirring her soggy Froot Loops around in her bowl. Both Scorpia and Entrapta are silent, staring at her like they’re waiting for her to give them a reason as to _why_ she still doesn’t talk to her soulmate, so Catra sighs. “I just— I don’t have anything to say.” 

It’s only part of the reason, of course. Entrapta continues to stare at her, and Catra averts her gaze. Scorpia seems to realize that Catra’s done speaking on the subject, so she pats Catra’s knee and then stands up. 

“Enough about soulmates. What are you two watching, anyway? And why isn’t there any popcorn?” 

“Catra put this on, I have no idea what it is,” Entrapta says over the sound of the microwave beeping, followed by popping kernels. A few minutes later, Catra scoots closer to Entrapta to make room for Scorpia on the other side of her. She offers some of her blanket, restarts the movie, and for a while, forgets about the stress of there being someone out there who’s supposed to be just for her.

-

That night, Adora finds herself busy procrastinating her health science paper by scrolling aimlessly through twitter and trying not to think about the events of this afternoon — she’s already replayed what happened _at least_ ten times, and each time, she becomes more and more enraptured with the heterochromic eyes she had found herself staring into — when her soulmate decides to make a reappearance. 

It starts with a familiar, tingly sensation lighting up her skin. She looks up from her phone in surprise, before eagerly moving her arm so that it’s laying on top of her desk underneath the dim lamplight, watching in fascination as a dark color begins to form at the base of her wrist. Slowly, the color begins to dance down her forearm, slowly changing from a dark purple to a dark blue.

Along with it comes the feeling of emotions that aren’t her own. Adora knits her brows together in an attempt to make sense of them, but her soulmate’s thoughts must be all over the place. Anxiety is the most prevalent emotion; it fills her chest, so vivid that it almost feels as if _she’s_ the one who should be feeling anxious. Underneath it is some form of affection, and Adora wonders what could have her soulmate feeling so anxious, yet affectionate. 

As the colors on her arm begin to morph into something that looks a lot like a night sky, Adora grabs the pen sitting on her desk and writes out the words _I hope you had a wonderful day_ on her other arm. Luckily, her soulmate’s dominant hand seems to be the opposite of hers, so she doesn’t have to worry about disrupting anything. 

Almost as soon as Adora finishes, her soulmate suddenly stops painting, and the feeling of a phantom brush disappears. Adora frowns, worried she’s scared her soulmate off, only for the tingly feeling to return just a few moments later. The anxiety has dulled, even if it’s just a little bit, and even though it’s small, Adora’s heart swells. 

_I did that,_ she thinks, suddenly feeling inexplicably happy. _I made them feel less anxious._

Hours later, Adora’s lies sprawled across her bed when the connection starts to fade. She had long since given up on completing her essay — from the moment she began to feel her soulmate’s presence, she knew she was a goner — and had eventually gotten lost in her own thoughts. Her soulmate’s anxiety has significantly reduced, and now, all Adora really feels from them is a sense of composure. She just hopes she’s mirroring that feeling, too. 

The feeling of their connection dwindling is always strange, the unfamiliar emotions slowly ebbing away like water falling from between her fingers. When Adora glances back down at her arm in the dim lighting of her bedroom and realizes that not a single inch of her skin is able to be seen, she figures her soulmate must be done. 

A multitude of blacks, purples, blues, and even hints of pink come together to form a galaxy of stars, unlike any of the other paintings she’s seen from her soulmate. It covers the entirety of her arm, almost like a tattoo sleeve. She simply admires it for a few more moments, before peeking through the curtain that covers the window just above her bed. 

With her breath catching in the back of her throat, Adora realizes that the colors resemble the night sky as of now. A sudden feeling of warmth fills her chest, and for a moment, she allows herself to imagine that her soulmate is looking at the same, star filled sky. 

*

**Author's Note:**

> comments inspire me greatly, and you can find me on twitter @chasingcrown if you’d like to cry over catradora becoming canon


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